Fidelity
by eloelay
Summary: It is not for Viera to favor, or to want, or to love. But I do. Then, I am Viera no more. Francentric. Slight BalFran.


A/N: Square Enix owns Final Fantasy XII.

---

Always have I loved in spite of my better instinct.

Such a concept of love is uncommon in Viera way; sisterhood, yes – love was different. Love was patient with those who would otherwise not understand, love favored one sister over another, love would offer help when they whom I sought to help should have learnt alone. The Wood warned us of such things.

I have only once defied the Wood, and I regret it not. I've only one other offense, committed several times – but then, what harm do I now to the Wood? It has forgotten this daughter, and so daughter of the Wood am I no more.

---

"Mjrn, come." Fran looked sternly at the little Viera.

The youth stumbled on the bridge leading from the Fane of the Path. "Sister, why did Mother die? The Wood took her. I want her back."

"Old was she – it is only natural. Now, we shall be caught, and lucky we are to have not been yet." Fran held her hand and tugged her along back to the Spiritwood.

"Sister," Mjrn whispered, turning in to the circular promenade, ducking her head to watch the water, "I only sought to speak to the Wood."

"Mjrn, look not for a way in which to bring Mother back. Gone is she. To love so fondly is to go against the Wood."

The youth began to cry. Sparkling tears dripped down her face into the pool. She sniffled and heaved – a child's wailing, neither self-conscious nor quiet, only innocent. It moved Fran, and she reached a hand to stroke Mjrn's short hair.

"I loved Mother, I wish her back. Why must the Wood have her?"

The elder of the sisters could not say. She herself had spent many nights since her mother's passing in quiet conviction that she did not miss her. To miss her would be to resent the Wood, the Great Mother. Fran was faithful – Mjrn was young still, and could not understand.

"The Wood must have her, because it is Her Will. Question it not." The proper response it was, but to Fran it felt hollow. It sounded without ring of truth, perhaps the truth a child required.

Mjrn continued to cry, and cry, and cry. Her narrow shoulders heaved with the effort, seeming near to breaking with the strain.

Fran sighed. "The Wood will protect her, Sister. It means to keep her safe, so that Mother might keep us safe."

The young Viera snorted once, a mighty sound that made even her own eyes widen. "Promise me, might you, Sister?"

It was in this moment that Fran knew it false, but kept to it anyway. It was in this moment that Fran loved Mjrn above Hana and Alja and Rena and all other sisters in Eryut. With a resolute and solemn disposition, she replied, "I promise."

---

Viera are sisters. Viera are not friends, are not lovers, are not free. They are family. None is superior, none is favored. The Wood willed it so.

Adored the Wood I did, and without falter, to this day do I still, but I felt an emptiness that no Green Word, no sister, no Viera could rid me of.

Yearned so passionately have I for freedom that it is rare in me still to find my ears aching for the Green Word and the gentle rustling of Golmore, rather than the rush of air and whirring machinery of the Strahl. I find I no longer wish too often for the lush green scent of Eryut, and I wish more often than not for the exotic cologne of Balthier's and the oil .

Simply have I traded a former home for a new one, for one that so accomodates my love of open air and without restraint - my love as big as the sky.

---

She was not one for rash decisions, but Fran was older now, and in her heart was another love, one that the Wood kept her from. The whispers in her ear of the Wood nearly deterred her. The gentle coos of comfort and encouragement, almost kept her stiletto-clad feet from moving.

The Road of Verdant Praise…it was her road to the Hume world, of which she has heard little, and of its good even less. The eyes of her sisters were clouded still, filled with distaste of that which they did not understand.

_Daughter, you leave now and never shall you return._

The Voice of the Wood. It almost pained her to hear the sweet murmurs with the knowledge of what she planned to do.

I wish not to cause offense, she spoke, only do I seek my fulfillment.

_And seek you not this fulfillment within me. Provided for you since your day of birth have I, and still, Daughter, you turn from these Green Boughs and My Words to seek another Mother, to make a Mother of the Hume world that will reject you as they reject even each other. _

The authority made Fran will to shrink back, to run home into the safety of the depths of the Spiritwood, and devote her life to repairing her damages to the Wood. Rarely did the Wood speak directly to Sisters who were not of High Regard, and it was a humbling experience for Fran, although it seemed it had come too fervently and too late.  
Great Mother, Fran implored, searched have I within the village and yet, nothing still has given me what I want most. The strength to follow the Viera path is strength I may lack.

_Then never are you to return. Forgiven, never shall you be. Leave now. But be keenly met; know the Hume world is not like that of the Viera. Reasons are aplenty why there is warning against it._

And suddenly, very suddenly, Fran's ears felt cold. Fran's entirety felt cold. She knew already, never again would she know the Green Word, or the embrace of the Wood. Her bow at her back, her ears empty of sound, her resolve bitter but withstanding, she stalked out of the Wood and into Golmore, and past that, the Hume world that lay beyond.

---

It is not for Viera to leave the Wood. It is not for Viera to want, or to hunger, or to thirst – for all of this, the Wood provides. It is, especially, not for Viera to love.

The Hume world, at first, was as the Great Mother said; cold, harsh, bloodied and vile. I saw hate, pain - I saw abandonment and anger and anguish and despair.

But then, I also saw Humes help one another – a manner of love that Viera do not abide by.

The Viera understood their place – they would get for themselves only what they needed, and would want for nothing more. If they could not get for themselves, then they deserved it not.

Years did it take me to comprehend not _that_ Humes were different, but that those differences were not always for the worse.

When one sacrificed, others would be supplied. If one could not fend for themselves, they would be taken care of. It was not like the Viera.

Humes looked after one another, even strangers. Even Viera strangers - although they do not understand us, and although they know not of our ways, although they know us to be different and to be what they find cold, they offer their help still.

Balthier, whom I love, offered his help to me still.

---

"It would seem, Fran, my dear, that we are far in over our heads," mentioned Balthier passively.

At the time, they'd only really known each other for a few short months. Fran had found him to be of a good sort, if full of the sort of things the youth are so often full of. He was confident, rebellious, quite smartly dressed, and held a love for freedom that branched from a former lack of it.

He had already shared his story; he had not struck her as the closed and reserved type. Hers, however, left little to the imagination, and she feared in her telling of it, she might make it seem a much more detached feat than it had been. He might misunderstand her.

"Yes." Fran was solemn, already pulling the string of her bow taut. "There seem to be many. The Gods frown upon us this day."

Never had she felt a particular fancy for worgen dogs. Violent, indiscriminate, and with a particularly sharp set of teeth with which to accommodate themselves to such habits, they weren't the type to sit well with her – especially when she was running particularly low on potions.

"I find I like it better that way." Balthier cocked his gun once more; firing at one headed his way. "How do you fare, my lady?"

If she were in a less pressing position, she would have raised her eyebrow just slight. She didn't reply, though supposed the quiet whistle of her arrow was answer enough as it soared right into the leg of the worgen, faltering its path.

The sheer amount of them, at least seven-and-ten of them, began to force them to backtracking, easing ever backwards into the territory of the Wild Saurian, a fact Fran was barely aware of even as she constantly restrung arrows and let fly.

So far, there were nine of them left, and in the span of twenty minutes, with failing strength left in them and only so many potions left in their packs, they were like to be in bits and pieces, or perhaps in the mouth of worgen pups.

Soon, there were four, and then three, and now only two. Those two were beginning to circle Fran, and already she'd taken the brunt of many a worgen lunge and fang. She was leaning slightly fro and then to, and she'd no potions left.

"Come now, you silly little pups, there's little naught but bones on her!" Balthier shouted, performing Decoy on himself. "Now _I,_ my quadruped friends, I've a bit of high-quality Archadian meat for your dining delight. Have at thee!"

Fran thought he'd a flair for theatrics – to such an extent, she'd not known.

The worgen headed toward them, and they both got quite a bite into his arm and thigh. The animals backtracked for another only to be shot quite succinctly in the heads both.

She began to collapse, only to be caught with no small amount of flourish, by Balthier.

"My dear," he said, "Viera or not, darling, you _do_ in fact need blood to live." Although hurt himself quite badly, he poured his last Potion into her slightly parted lips.

Fran did not understand. "Why?"

He stroked her cheek gently as she recovered; he hoped he wasn't being too forward. He didn't suppose Viera indulged in much physical comfort, but he was quite content to provide where, if he were in her position, _he _would certainly want it.

"Well, what sort of leading man would I be indeed if I left a lady without that which she so needed and I was all but too ready to give?" He gave her the same smile he'd given her when she'd first agreed to co-pilot the _Strahl_, eyes wide, like a child's in awe, a hint of shame, for so in love with the sky was she, when she should be so in love with the Wood.

He gave her that smile that promised Shangri-La.

It was in that moment that she felt love for Balthier, a man who promised her the skies and, with complete ease, delivered it to her heart's content.

"No manner of leading man at all." She smiled slightly.

---

And so it is.

It is not for Viera to favor, or to want, or to love. But I do. Then, I am Viera no more.

And I nary find a reason to wish it were not so.

---


End file.
